


all these words we can't redeem

by laireshi



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Avengers #29 spoilers, M/M, hickmanvengers, post NA#3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony laughed quietly. He might as well be honest. “You'd destroy me,” he said, seriously, “and I'd let you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	all these words we can't redeem

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly: Avengers #29 spoilers. Some dialogue from the issue.
> 
> This fic is Salmastryon's fault. [Here is her original idea](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/post/86248757216/i-cant-help-thinking-about-if-tony-didnt-give-in-but) (careful though, it's one giant spoiler ;) ).  
> The sentence "You'd destroy me and I'd let you" is also a part of why I wrote it [and here is the original link](http://incoloure.tumblr.com/post/75045292171/youd-destroy-me-and-id-let-you).
> 
> There's a Chinese translation available [here](http://www.mtslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=122982&extra=page%3D1%26filter%3Dtypeid%26typeid%3D79%26typeid%3D79).

It was 2 AM. Steve shouldn't be awake, but Tony knew all about the problems he had sleeping, lately. He caused them, after all.

He'd always liked having Steve in his workshop. And if now the circumstances were as they were, if he couldn't look at Steve without feeling terrible guilt all the time, well. His own damn fault. He'd never pretended otherwise.

So it wasn't a new thing, to have Steve watching him work, sometimes sketching, sometimes just sitting there. Steve seemed to always know when he could talk, and when Tony was so engrossed in his work he wouldn't hear anyway, and when Tony was thinking over something and needed to maintain his focus. Maybe it was just that Steve knew him well.

The thought was scary, to say the least.

This is why it was a surprise to him, when he turned around to grab for a scanner he was sure was there, to find Steve standing just next to him, close enough that when Tony focused on something that wasn't numbers, he could feel Steve's body heat through his t-shirt.

“Steve?”

Steve was looking at him intently, something in his eyes searching –

His hand was on Tony's cheek suddenly, and then Steve kissed him.

Tony thought he must have been dreaming. He let his hand wander up, grasp at Steve's arm, and he leant into him, his safe warmth –

He couldn't do that.

He tried to push Steve away, stupidly, he'd never be able to move him, but Steve took a step back as soon as he felt Tony trying to get away.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry, I thought you wanted – I'm sorry.”

“No!” Tony blurted out, because Steve sounded so damn _unhappy_. “I do. Want you. I.”

The way Steve lightened up at that hurt.

 _I'll find some way to make this right_ , Tony remembered, and he knew he couldn't do it. “We can't,” Tony said, quietly.

Steve frowned. He still looked lost. “Why?”

Tony looked away from him. “It's –” He stopped himself. What was he supposed to say? _You know the reasons, and it's my fault you don't remember them_.

“Tony,” Steve said. “I thought – it's okay if you don't want it. But you just said you do.”

“It's a bad idea, Steve, it'd blow up in our faces, we can't do it, we lead a team of superheroes together, it's –” He cut himself off. He was babbling, he knew that, but he was trying to think of all the reasons for himself too. Because it was tempting. It was so tempting to let himself forget, to kiss Steve again, to be with him. But he'd never forgive himself if he did.

“Steve. Please.”

“I will ask again,” Steve said.

Tony nodded. He'd do everything to make him leave now. He couldn't – he needed air, he couldn't breathe with Steve standing there, looking at him and searching for answers he couldn't get.

“Please leave me,” Tony whispered.

Steve listened.

***

“Sit still,” Tony snapped when Steve tried to stand up for the third time.

Steve was in his uniform, just his cowl off, and there was an ugly cut on his forehead. He didn't get checked out by EMTs, of course, not wanting to distract them from civilians, and Tony would shake him if he wasn't so worried.

Steve wouldn't even have said anything if Tony hadn't seen him stumble in the corridor and basically forced him to a bathroom, where they had first aid kits.

He fumbled around for a wash cloth, wet it a bit and pressed it into Steve's forehead. Steve winced, but kept still, and Tony fought the urge to tell him he should have said he was injured. The cut wasn't deep, but it was bleeding like head wounds tended to. His pupils looked normal, his skin wasn't clammy; Tony wasn't sure why Steve had stumbled in the first place, but he was glad he did. This way he could take care of him.

“You should have gone to the doctor,” he said, pouring a disinfectant over the cut. “Sorry,” he said, as Steve winced again. It was funny, how much Steve disliked medical attention himself and yet always scowled at Tony for avoiding it. Tony didn't have it in himself to tease the other man about it now, though.

Putting the wash cloth away, Tony pressed dry gauze onto Steve's forehead and held it in place for a moment. When he was sure his skin would be dry enough for the band aids to actually stick, he carefully put a few butterfly stitches on the cut to hold it together. There were little chances it would scar, on Steve, but Tony didn't want to risk it. He put a clean gauze over it and taped it.

“There, soldier, all done.”

“Always taking care of me,” Steve smiled at him. “Thanks.”

Tony huffed. “Someone has to.”

A drop of water ran down Steve's temple, onto his cheek. Without thinking, Tony reached and wiped it away. Steve grabbed his wrist when he tried to pull away, and they looked at each other for a few long heartbeats.

Tony knew what was coming, then, but the only way he could have avoided it was to wrench his hand out of Steve's grasp, and he wasn't sure Steve would let him go this time.

“Why,” Steve said, quietly.

“Why what,” Tony said, looking at the blank wall.

“ _Tony_.” Steve sounded pleading.

“Let me go,” Tony said.

“I love you,” Steve said.

Tony couldn't keep in a disbelieving laugh. “You have a head injury,” he corrected. “And now I'm rather sure I should force you to get checked out.”

“Why is it so hard to believe, Tony?”

There were so many answers, and the most important one was the one Tony couldn't ever tell him. That didn't mean there weren't other reasons; no less true.

“Do you want me to make a list?” he snapped. “Look at me. I'm the very definition of fucked up, you're – _you _.” Perfect. Good. Caring. Honest. All the things Tony wasn't.__

“You're a good man, Tony, and a great friend, and –”

“I am not having this conversation after a Doombot smacked you up the head,” Tony cut him off, sharply. “You are going to rest, and I am going to work on the armour. _Let me go_.”

“But we will be having this conversation,” Steve said, and Tony tried to pretend he didn't hear how _heartbroken_ he sounded in this moment.

What was worse, how there was still hope in his voice.

***

Tony was in the kitchen, making himself a quick snack before going back to the workshop, to his blueprints and plans and schemes, all with one goal in mind: how to destroy an Earth.

He was an Avenger. He was supposed to _protect_ it. Except he was doing it, right? He was protecting his planet and his family and the people he loved and everyone he didn't even know.

He was.

“Hi, Shellhead,” Steve said, and Tony froze. Damn super soldier moves, Tony hadn't heard him entering the room.

“Hi, Winghead,” he replied, and took a bite of his sandwich.

“I couldn't sleep,” Steve said, quietly.

Tony wished he hadn't heard him say these exact words so many times already. Steve moved, quickly, until he was standing in Tony's space.

“Tell me why,” he said.

“I don't know,” he said. “You could ask Stephen –” He cut himself off, because he knew that wasn't what Steve was asking, and that suggestion was beyond cruel, even if Steve didn't remember that.

“Tony,” Steve said in this voice he had when he was trying to stop himself from shouting. “ _Why_.”

Tony laughed quietly. He might as well be honest. “You'd destroy me,” he said, seriously, “and I'd let you.”

Steve took a few steps away as if burnt.

“Tony –”

“You asked.”

Steve walked out.

Tony pretended he wasn't shaking all over.

***

He was in his workshop, the armour laid out on the table in front of him, when someone barged inside.

 _Someone_. Only Steve could just enter his workshop like this.

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked, sharply.

Tony didn't turn to look at him. “No,” he said. “But I know me.”

“Tony –”

Tony shut his eyes tight, until he saw small bits of light playing over his eyelids. The armour in front of him . . . it couldn't destroy a whole planet, but it could start off a chain reaction that would. He'd weaponized Sun already. He'd weaponized Earth. Steve wouldn't even look at him if he knew. But he didn't. He didn't, and he didn't know what he was offering, he didn't know why he shouldn't, and Tony couldn't forget that even for a moment, and yet he had to remind himself of it every time Steve was in one room in him. It was everything he'd ever wanted, everything he willingly gave away, everything he could never have. He thought he should be glad, really, that Steve hadn't asked before they went together to Necropolis for the last time.

Tony knew he wouldn't have done a single thing differently.

“Steve, I know you can be stubborn.” All too well. “But so can I.” And wasn't that the source of all of their problems, in the end? They worked so well together, and they fought harder than anyone, too similar and too different in all the wrong places.

Tony opened his eyes and turned to face Steve. He was standing just inside the door, in dark blue trousers and a t-shirt with white star on it. Normally, Tony would smile at that. Normally.

“You told me you wanted it,” Steve said. “So why do you keep –”

“We can't have everything we want,” Tony said, forcing himself to stay calm. “I also want to drink a bottle of whiskey, but I think we both agree it's a terrible idea.”

It would let him forget, for a short while. That alone made it a great idea.

Steve took a step back as if hit. “Don't compare –”

“Whiskey would be less dangerous than you, Steve,” Tony said, and it was cruel and true and –

If he had to hurt Steve to make him leave, hurt him again, he damn well would.

It would be for the best in the final count, anyway.

Steve never agreed with him that the end did justify the means. But that was it, wasn't it. It was just fitting Tony would try to break them even more with that in mind. _Whatever means necessary_.

“I will lock you out of the workshop, if I have to,” Tony said, and he didn't know if he was lying or not. Steve always had had _all_ of his access codes, up until Tony started building world destroying weapons in secret.

“I don't care,” Steve said. “Why are you so hell-bent –”

“I do,” Tony snapped.

He was saved by the Avengers alert sounding.

***

He wasn't sure what time it was, if it was still late or already early, and he didn't care, because time was always of essence, these days, and he couldn't just waste it on sleep.

What happened was this: Steve went into Tony's lab, his codes still working (of course they were working, Tony could laugh at himself for ever pretending he might change that), his shield in hand, and even through his cowl Tony could see how _haunted_ he looked.

“ _I_ would destroy _you_ ,” he quoted, and just like that, Tony knew.

“Don't you agree,” Tony said, flatly.

Steve was on him, his hand on Tony's throat, threateningly, but not painfully so. “Yes, Tony,” he said, just that, and then they were looking at each other, and Tony didn't try to fight his way out of Steve's grasp.

“You used me,” Steve said, very quietly, and Tony thought that this was what he was trying to avoid.

“Yes,” he said, and then, “and I'd do it again.”

Steve let him go, pushed him away, and Tony's back hit the table behind him, his hands grasping at the edges while he tried to keep his balance.

“I don't –” Steve's voice was empty. “It wasn't a head injury speaking, Tony,” he said, and Tony wished he had strangled him instead.

“And what exactly does it change, now,” he said out loud.

He wondered, briefly. What if he said, _sorry_. What if he helped Steve stop the Illuminati now. What if he could agree with him, finally.

He was a futurist, and he couldn't see this scenario.

Steve was in his full uniform, and yet he looked so small, like Captain America never should, the anger coursing through him notwithstanding, and Tony wished for a bottle again.

Instead he reached for the controller that let him call his armour, because he knew he was not getting out of his lab on a promise to be good.

Steve squared his shoulders, and Tony saw the exact moment when he realised what Tony was doing, and when he let his anger win over hurt and betrayal.

They always ended like that, he thought, his armour surrounding him as Steve threw his shield.


End file.
